


An Angel of Light

by ssclassof56



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: Napoleon finds the latest Innocent to be entrancing...maybe too entrancing.





	An Angel of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's MFU Scrapbook for the Halloween Challenge 2016  
> Prompt: Picture below

  
  
“Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds,  
Lament and mourn;  
How many half-blown buds must close and die;  
Hopes with the Summer born  
All faded lie,  
And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!”  
-Adelaide Anne Procter  
  
  
Napoleon stood with his foot on the fence rail, one elbow resting on his knee. “Don’t take it so hard, old-timer,” he advised. “There’s always next year.”  
  
The figure beside him made no reply, but remained slumped dejectedly in the wheelbarrow, an award ribbon conspicuously absent from his Festival number. He frowned ponderously and cradled two empty bottles like trophies.  
  
Napoleon reached down and gave his companion a comforting pat on the cheek, then turned his attention to more cheerful prospects. Beyond the fence line, the ground rose steadily, hiding the small town which lay on the other side. The agent lifted his gaze to the hilltop, where the grass, stubbornly green in the mild autumn weather, met a cloudy sky. A woman crested the ridge. With tantalizing slowness she ascended, pausing at the top to capture a fleeting ray of sunlight. Napoleon drank in the vision, his lips curved in enchantment.  
  
The woman descended by a curving footpath. Napoleon watched her approach, savoring the thrill of anticipation that grew with each light step. A faint specter of guilt hovered about him, in the form of a glowering Russian. With a sweep of his hand, he waved it away. Whether Illya was currently a rock or a street vendor, Napoleon did not begrudge him his particular investigatory methods. He saw no reason why Illya should frown at his chosen line of inquiry.  
  
The woman glanced up at his wave and returned the gesture. Forsaking the narrow path, she skipped down the slope toward him. The cape of her blue woolen coat flapped behind her. Shining curls bounced at the base of her neck, both gilded from the summer sun. Napoleon watched her with a connoisseur’s eye. “And that Divine Creature is my line of inquiry,” he told his disgruntled companion.  
  
Lucinda D’Arcangelo reached the fence, slightly out of breath from the hike. When Napoleon leaned toward her, she stepped back teasingly. “Who were you talking to?”  
  
“Me? Oh, I was just consoling my friend here. He’s a bit upset that he didn’t win a ribbon in the Festival.” His voice lowered to a mock whisper. “I’m afraid he’s been drowning his sorrows.”  
  
She laughed, a musical sound, like the tolling of bells. Napoleon took a steadying breath.  
  
“Poor fellow. Perhaps I can help him.” She drew the ribbon from her hair and held it at arm’s length. “This can be his consolation prize.”  
  
Her golden curls, freed from their confinement, tumbled around her shoulders. Napoleon stood entranced, captivated by the seductive glow in her amber eyes. The raucous cry of a blackbird broke the spell. With an answering smile, Napoleon grasped the proffered strip of blue silk. Lucinda held fast to the other end, allowing him to pull her gently toward him. She stopped at the fence, and the ribbon slipped through her fingers with a sibilant whisper.  
  
Reluctantly, Napoleon turned to their frowning companion. He folded the silk and tucked it into the breast pocket of the figure’s coat. “There. He seems happier. But what I think he’d really like is a kiss.”  
  
“Well then, give him one.”  
  
Lucinda laughed at Napoleon’s grimace. Stepping onto the lowest rail of the fence, she held up her arms in invitation. She hovered above him, the sun lighting her from behind. Her hat, a little cone of white fur, became a glowing aura about her head.  
  
“Angel,” Napoleon said earnestly. He grasped her about the waist and lifted her over the fence. She leaned in, brushing him with her curves as she descended. Her arms enclosed around his neck, and her gaze fixed on his mouth hungrily. Amber flames lit her eyes as Napoleon, with a guttural moan, brought her lips crashing down to his.  
  
A chill autumn wind swept down the hill and broke vainly against them. Lucinda ravaged his mouth, feasting on him with lips and teeth. Napoleon tasted the tang of copper but did not pull away. Her entwining arms hardened as she hung from his shoulders, driving him back against the fence. Heedless of their exposed location, his hands roamed her body, craving what lay buried beneath the layers of wool. With each caress, she deepened their kisses, drinking him down with an unquenchable thirst.  
  
The feel of her cold metal garter-clasps at his fingertips brought Napoleon to his senses. With an effort of will that tore a groan from his throat, he set Lucinda on her feet and wrenched his lips from hers. He stared down at her, panting. He limbs felt heavy and his mind enfogged. He searched for the words to apologize for his inexcusable behavior.  
  
She smiled at him seraphically. “Maybe this town is right about me. I don’t feel anything like an angel when I’m with you.”  
  
Her words and smile numbed the pain of his mortification. “You’ve certainly bewitched me,” he said thickly.  
  
At his admission, an unrecognized emotion flickered in her eyes. A wave of protective concern washed over him. He drew her head against his shoulder. “Have you ever thought of moving to the city? We’re much more broad-minded.”  
  
She rubbed her cheek on his lapel like a kitten, her fur hat tickling his chin. “I have. But there I’d just be one of many shops selling herbal remedies. Here I’m unique. And I like the challenge of overcoming small-town ignorance.”  
  
He tossed her hat aside and nuzzled his face in her hair. “But it must be awfully dull and lonely around here.”  
  
“Oh, it is. Especially at night,” she purred. Her warm breath caressed his throat, stirring the embers of his ardor. Lucinda chuckled wickedly as his hands left her shoulders and slid inexorably down her back.  
  
The wind returned, ruffling their hair. In the wheelbarrow, one end of the blue silk ribbon escaped the confines of the pocket. It snapped in the breeze like a ship’s signal flag, capturing Napoleon's attention. His hands halted at Lucinda’s waist.  
  
“I bet this Fall Festival is the most excitement you get all year,” he said, his eyes on the ribbon.  
  
“At least it brings exciting people to town.” She pressed closer to him.  
  
The wind blew harder, and the ribbon’s dance became more urgent. “Really? Not more exciting than me, I hope,” he murmured.  
  
“Well, there is a man from a retail syndicate. He wants to buy up my little operation for a pitiful price. Thankfully I was able to make him an attractive counter-offer.”  
  
“Were you?” Words shot through his brain with each snap of the ribbon. _Fire. Dangerous cargo._ Napoleon felt a painful tingling in his body, as if all his limbs had been asleep. He looked down at the woman in his arms. “What was it?”  
  
“Why, you, of course.” He heard the unmistakable click of a pistol cocking. “Hands up,” she said dulcetly, stepping back.  
  
Napoleon raised his hands to his shoulders and smiled ruefully. “Let me guess. Purple Valley? Muscling in on the folk medicine racket now, are they?”  
  
Her eyes flashed with contempt. “Hardly. I offered my talents to them, but Thrush proved to be just as full of small-town ignorance. A more convincing demonstration was in order.”  
  
Napoleon pointed a finger to himself. “I see. And you imagine that you and that little pistol are going to hand me over to Thrush?”  
  
"This? To be honest, I’m not sure it’s even loaded, but he insisted I carry it.” She smiled at him provocatively and slowly lowered the weapon. “Well, Napoleon. Now’s your chance.”  
  
Napoleon made no move. His brow shone with cold sweat, and a vein throbbed at his temple. “Very clever,” he said stiffly. “Thrush neurotoxin in your lipstick?”  
  
Lucinda watched him with head cocked and lips curved in mocking parody. “No. Just a little folk recipe. That and my own peculiar talents.”  
  
She stepped forward and ran the tiny pistol down the cleft in his chin. “You know, it turns out the townspeople here aren’t such fools, after all.” Her amber eyes glowed with an infernal light. “You’re going to help me flush out your little blond friend. With the two of you in my thrall, I might even ask for a seat on Thrush Central.”  
  
Napoleon’s heart hammered in his chest. His limbs were unresponsive, his mind dulled. He watched helplessly as she tipped her head up to kiss him. At the touch of her lips, a wild, uncontrolled passion thrust all other thoughts aside, and he ravished her mouth in return.  
  
Lucinda broke off the kiss and laughed exultantly, the sound echoing off the hillside like the wild clamor of bells. “You’re mine, Napoleon, body and soul, to do with as I please.” She raked him with a hungry gaze. “And you will please me very much, I’m sure.”  
  
Napoleon closed his eyes at the realization that, to please Lucinda D’Arcangelo, there was nothing he would not do. Even betray Illya and UNCLE. As the fog enveloped his mind, with his last shred of willpower, he whispered, “Domine, exaudi.”  
  
The wind blew with a mournful howl. In the wheelbarrow, the stuffed figure stirred. It rose awkwardly and lumbered forward, stiff-limbed. Lucinda was bending over, returning her pistol to a holster on her inner thigh. “You came awfully close to finding it,” she called teasingly, the wind snatching at her words. The figure raised an arm, a bottle clasped in its gloved hand. On a downward stroke, the glass struck her head, and she crumpled in a heap.  
  
Napoleon felt like a marionette whose strings had been severed. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. Pain radiated throughout his body. No stranger to torture, he rode out the agonizing sensations, gathering his wits as the pain slowly subsided, leaving him weak and spent.  
  
Lucinda’s still form lay before him. Napoleon crawled over to her. With reluctance, he took her wrist and felt for a pulse. She lived. He raised his eyes to the stuffed figure standing sentinel above them. “What the hell were you thinking, Illya?” he croaked. “How could you sit there for all that time, doing nothing?”  
  
The figure gave no answer. Napoleon staggered to his feet, enraged. He grabbed the figure by the shoulders and shook it violently. The masked head tipped backwards and tumbled off. With a startled cry, Napoleon released his grip. The figure dropped to the grass in a cloud of straw and sawdust.  
  
The two-tone signal of his communicator sent Napoleon’s heart leaping to this throat. He drew it from his coat and fumbled to activate it. “Solo here,” he gasped.  
  
“Napoleon, where are you?” Illya’s voice demanded. “I’ve got the Thrush agent in custody. He was using Purple Valley as his cover.”  
  
“I know. I’ve got his accomplice here. Festival Trail, Station 30. She’s unconscious.”  
  
“She? Of course, it would be.” Illya paused to sigh and presumably roll his eyes. “Should I bring a doctor with me?”  
  
“Yes. And a priest.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“You heard me.” His voice took on a desperate edge. “And get here quickly, pal, please.”  
  
The channel was silent for moment. “Yes, Napoleon, as quickly as I can,” Illya assured him.  
  
Napoleon returned the communicator to his pocket. He kicked aside the remains of the stuffed figure, unable at present to come to grips with what he had seen. Kneeling down, he checked Lucinda’s pulse again. He found it faint but steady. Without lingering over the task, he removed her pistol from its holster. The wind rustled over them, blowing a golden curl across her cheek. Despite her treachery, she was still a beautiful woman. The curl stirred against her soft skin. Napoleon reached over to smooth it back.  
  
Lucinda moaned weakly. Napoleon snatched his hand back as if burned. He scrambled back until he was leaning against the fence post. Taking out his Special, he kept Lucinda D’Arcangelo within its sights and waited for his partner.


End file.
